SECTION 6. Limitations always make for happiness.  We are happy in proportion as our range of vision, our sphere of work, our points of contact with the world, are restricted and circumscribed.  We are more likely to feel worried and anxious if these limits are wide; for it means that our cares, desires and terrors are increased and intensified.  That is why the blind are not so unhappy as we might be inclined to suppose; otherwise there would not be that gentle and almost serene expression of peace in their faces.

Another reason why limitation makes for happiness is that the second half of life proves even more dreary that the first.  As the years wear on, the horizon of our aims and our points of contact with the world become more extended.  In childhood our horizon is limited to the narrowest sphere about us; in youth there is already a very considerable widening of our view; in manhood it comprises the whole range of our activity, often stretching out over a very distant sphere,—­the care, for instance, of a State or a nation; in old age it embraces posterity.

But even in the affairs of the intellect, limitation is necessary if we are to be happy.  For the less the will is excited, the less we suffer.  We have seen that suffering is something positive, and that happiness is only a negative condition.  To limit the sphere of outward activity is to relieve the will of external stimulus:  to limit the sphere of our intellectual efforts is to relieve the will of internal sources of excitement.  This latter kind of limitation is attended by the disadvantage that it opens the door to boredom, which is a direct source of countless sufferings; for to banish boredom, a man will have recourse to any means that may be handy—­dissipation, society, extravagance, gaming, and drinking, and the like, which in their turn bring mischief, ruin and misery in their train. Difficiles in otio quies—­it is difficult to keep quiet if you have nothing to do.  That limitation in the sphere of outward activity is conducive, nay, even necessary to human happiness, such as it is, may be seen in the fact that the only kind of poetry which depicts men in a happy state of life—­Idyllic poetry, I mean,—­always aims, as an intrinsic part of its treatment, at representing them in very simple and restricted circumstances.  It is this feeling, too, which is at the bottom of the pleasure we take in what are called genre pictures.

Simplicity, therefore, as far as it can be attained, and even monotony, in our manner of life, if it does not mean that we are bored, will contribute to happiness; just because, under such circumstances, life, and consequently the burden which is the essential concomitant of life, will be least felt.  Our existence will glide on peacefully like a stream which no waves or whirlpools disturb.